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“You’re a virgin.” Tyrion had said, stopping her laughter in her throat. It took her a few moments to process the words that had actually come from his mouth. After all she’d been through during the battle, after everything that had led up to that point, she couldn’t quite believe that her world had once again been reduced to her sexual inexperience. She chastised herself for being foolish enough to believe she could allow herself to really have a moment of pure enjoyment just for the sake of enjoyment.
Despite the pounding of her own pulse that was drowning out most of the conversations in the room she still heard Jaime try to intercede. How kind of him, she thought, feeling sorry for me. It was then that she decided she’d had enough of the drunken frivolities, desperately wanting an escape. She stood, not initially intending to excuse herself at all, but manners and good sense mixed with the wine she’d consumed so she managed to muster a curt, “I have to piss.” She felt, rather than saw, everyone’s eyes go to her as she made to leave, but before she was able to do so she found her path blocked by none other than the overzealous wildling that called himself Giantsbane. Gods was it too much to ask to just have a moment of peace to herself.
Immediately sensing the intention behind his interruption Brienne managed to completely seal away the tumult of emotions she was felling and maintain something of her usual frigid demeanour. “Please pardon me for a moment.” She said, not taking a second glance at those she was excusing herself from. She pushed pass the wildling who stood in her path and set her focus upon the stones at her feet, striding from the great hall. Taking a brief glance behind herself, not expecting to see anything in particular rather just making sure the wilding wasn’t follow her, she was surprised to see Jaime had also left his seat at their table and was now tracing her path from the great hall, no more than a few moments behind her. Fuck. She didn’t feel as though she could handle his offhand remarks at this moment, though, he’d done nothing but be kind to her since coming to Winterfell. But she wasn’t able to give herself false hope. Not again.
Throwing another log onto the fire Brienne tried to cast memories of the evening from her mind. As much as she may have been enjoying herself before Tyrion had decided to humiliate her. As much as Jaime had been smiling at her… She heard a knock at her door and with a slow resignation she moved to open it.
She wasn’t entirely surprised to find Jaime the other side, given that she’d seen him leave the great hall seemingly in pursuit of her, and yet she didn’t really expect him to be standing there, wine in hand, leaning against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. But he looked nervous. Something about him seemed like it was buzzing with an awkward intensity. “You didn’t drink.” He said, matter of fact. Before she even had a chance to reply to his remark he was already moving inside her room. She didn’t have the heart to turn him away or ask him to leave, and she wanted to know why he’d even decided to seek her out in her quarters, so she merely closed the door questioning, “I didn’t drink?”
“In the game.” He insisted.
“I drank.” She continued, confused as to his insistence.
“In the game.” He continued, his voice more determined than before. “This is Dornish.” He said, a note of forced composure to his voice as he poured them two cups of wine. Brienne walked to the table where he stood, her brow furrowed in confusion over his abrupt entrance and push to continue their drinking in a more private setting. “This is not a game, this is only drinking..?” She asked, eyes narrowed. Finally looking up from the table Jaime handed her a cup, “Suit yourself.” He replied, his eyes unwavering from her own, even as she proceeded to drink. Lowering her drink she realised he was still looking at her, unblinking. When she met his eyes with her own he seemed to realise his un-breaking gaze and blinked as he averted his eyes, looking to the fire she’d set in the hearth.
“You keep it warm enough in here.” He said, moving past her to her bed. Brienne could feel her nerves fluttering, a light pull at the muscles of her core. She set down her cup.
Turning to see Jaime relieving himself of his outer shirt Brienne tried her best to keep her voice steady. “It’s the first thing I learnt when I came to the North. Keep a fire going. Every time you leave the room, put more wood on.” A soft frown set itself on her face as she watched Jaime struggle on in removing his outer layer. “Very diligent, very responsible.” He quipped, finally having succeeded in his endeavour.
“Piss of.” She threw back at him, standing her ground as he began to walk toward her.
“You know the first thing I learned in the North?” He said, eyes cast down, “I hate the fucking North.” With that, his eyes once again settled on her face as he came to stand but a foot or so in front of her, now in nothing more than a loose shirt, much like herself.
“It grows on you.” She said, not able, or wanting, to break his gaze. His eyes flicked down to the place where her clavicle ventured beneath her shirt. Her top not tightly enough laced together and revealing and small slither of pale skin that ran down her sternum to her waist. “I don’t want things growing on me.” He continued, once again moving to the small table where he’d placed his wine. Pouring himself another cup, he spoke again, “How about Tormund Giantsbane. Has he grown on you?” Brienne couldn’t even begin to humour the question he’d just asked her, her head tilting as she let a look of distaste settle on her features. Pushing on, determined to provoke a reaction Jaime continued, saying, “He was very sad when you left.” Try though as he did to hide his face with his cup, taking a long swig of wine, Brienne did not miss the undertone to his words.
“You sound quite jealous.” Brienne breathed, barely able to put a voice to her words, not knowing if it was a question, a statement or an invitation for Jaime to continue.
“I do don’t I.” He responded, a similar huskiness to his voice. He looked at her, his eyes searching, and as though he’d made some unspoken decision, he let a whisper of a smile cross his face as he said, “It’s bloody hot in here.” His eyes flicked to hers briefly as he began to struggle at unlacing his shirt.
Brienne couldn’t help but stare at his fingers as they tried to navigate the tight knot at the bottom of his neck. She was almost frozen in place, unable to move as she came to terms with his admission. True, he hadn’t outright said he loved her, but he’d displayed a jealously that she only recognised from men eager to please fine ladies. Something she’d never experienced firsthand.
Emerging from her introspection she realised he was still struggling to loosen his shirt, and had resorted to trying to undo the strings with his teeth. Good sense and the need to lessen his struggle overruled the nervousness tightening her abdomen. “Oh move aside.” She said, casting his hand out of reach and away from his shirt. His eyes fixed on her face as she began dexterously making quick work of the strings, at the same time tugging on his shirt enough to pull him closer, almost flush to her body.
Not put off by her manner Jaime again lifted his hand, but instead of going for his own shirt he slowly raised it to Brienne’s, an aura of hesitation radiating from him. She immediately covered his hand with her own, “What are you doing?” she breathed, apprehensively.
If it wasn’t for the overwhelming silence that filled the room Brienne wouldn’t have heard Jaime’s words that followed as he barely breathed life into them.
“Taking your shirt off.”
Without talking, she took his hand in her own, not breaking eye contact.
Brienne moved his hand down and away again, though more gentle this time. She didn’t fail to notice the spark of worry and fear that crossed over Jaime’s candlelit features. Without another thought she took to undoing her own shirt, taking no longer than a few seconds to release it of its haphazard bindings. Though, she didn’t take it off, not right away.
She looked again at Jaime, warming at the expression of amazement that covered his face.
Working quickly, though still careful to gauge his willingness, she grasps the bottom of his shirt and lifted it off of him. He obliged, lifting his arms to make her task easier. She was watchful not to pull too much at the golden hand still laced to his arm, for fear of hurting him. With as much boldness as she could summon she then took her own shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with his and never once braking the gaze they shared.
They stood but a few inches from each other, bare from the waist up, eyes locked on one another, their breathing the only sound in the room.
A quiet vulnerability spread across Jaime’s face as he managed to speak, his voice husky, “I’ve never slept with a Knight before.” In that sentence she knew, all the things they had yet to admit to one another were loaded into those words. His admission of inexperience, much like her own. His desire to make sure she didn’t feel uncomfortable or out of place. The reminder of that night, not long past, when he’d given her the title she’d always wanted…
It was him. It’d been him for a long time now, as much as she’d tried to fight against it.
Feeling just as breathless as Jaime, Brienne spoke, vocalising that which she’d always tried to avoid and hide. “I’ve never slept with anyone before.”
Still unable to look away from her face Jaime spoke, “Then you have to drink, those are the rules.”
No more than a whisper now, Brienne managed a weak “I told you -” before being completely cut off by Jaime as he moved toward her, urgently pressing his lips to hers. She stumbled for a moment at the force of his pursuit, unsure how to meet his desire, until she decided to meet with her own, pressing back against him.
She could feel his hand cradling her head as they kissed, his thumb tracing fire along her cheekbone. Instinctively she moved her hands, one to cradle his face in return, the other to his waist, pulling them together as close as they could be.
They went on like that for a while, standing there basking in the heat of the fire and the heat of the others embrace.
Slowly Jaime pushed against her, walking her backwards until she felt the bed behind her. The soft fur coverings stroking against the material of her trousers. They both pulled apart at the same time, panting for air and faces flushed. Jaime’s eyes searched hers and she could feel something pull, something deep inside of her. “Are you sure?” He whispered, his voice trailing off.
“Yes.” She breathed.
Jaime once again began his ministrations, but slower this time, more tempered. He travelled from her mouth to her neck, lending small kisses here and there until he came to the scars that graced her collarbone. The bear, she remembered, the one he’d saved her from. As tender as he had ever been he placed a sweet kiss on the marks, his mouth leaving fire behind where before there lay only ice.
She felt his hand move from where it had been at her neck and down to her waist and her stomach flipped with anticipation. Never breaking their kiss Jaime worked to unlace her breeches whilst she did the same to his.
Stepping away from each other to remove their trousers and boots broke the full body contact they’d both been enjoying, leaving Brienne cold and aware of her nakedness. But it wasn’t more than a fleeting moment before Jaime came back to her, this time holding her hand in his. Looking straight up into her eyes as he’d done so many times before, not a measure of doubt in his despite his awkwardness, he spoke. “You’re beautiful.”
Immediately feeling her heart quicken and her defences rise Brienne fought the urge to push him away and chastise him for the lie. But something stopped her. Whether it was the tenderness he was trying to convey in his gaze or the soft way his thumb was stroking against her knuckles she didn’t know. In that moment she could feel nothing but him, and it cast the worry from her mind. Slowly, so as not to be too abrupt, Brienne broke the contact of their hands, lamenting at the loss. But it was not for long. Looking down she was aware of his nakedness as much as she was her own, and truly seeing him as he was for the first time was causing all thoughts to flee her mind. But still she continued, set on removing his golden hand from his arm. She knew it wasn’t entirely comfortable for him to wear, yes. But she also knew that without it he felt just as bare as she without her armour, and she craved to give him a moment of acceptance. A quiet acknowledgement of him just as he was, battered and battle worn. She heard his breath hitch in his throat as she took the prosthetic from him, laying it on the bed behind her, and without a second thought interlaced her hand with his again.
Looking up she couldn’t help but note the look on his face, one of pure awe and emotion. No, she thought, she didn’t suppose Cersei had ever truly appreciate him for who he was, and it showed.
He lent up to her once again, intentions clearer now than ever before and, putting his hands around her, kissed her, more sweetly than she’d ever thought possible. She could feel him, his desire, his affection, his respect, in everything that he did and as he pushed her slowly down onto her bed she couldn’t help but allow herself a small smile. A delicate recognition of the moment they were sharing.
They lay together afterwards, both wrapped in thick furs. The shy intimacy between them was palpable. No longer just stolen glances and words heavy with nuance, but a real, true, perfect experience that they would both cherish for as long as they were able to remember anything.
A moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. Nothing she ever thought she would be lucky enough to experience. And it was with him, the man who respected her and trusted her like no other did. She knew there was still so much that stood between them, so much that threatened to tear them apart, but in that moment as she watched him smile at her she couldn’t help but think. This. This is enough.